Poem by RK Wallace.

Green Card alien,
standard two year probationary period;

no social
security,

no medical
insurance,

but there was free,
unlimited,
soda pop
refills.

A thousand bucks
for two hours in a hospital
bed, dehydrated from flu.
I was told to drink more
liquids, rehydrate
what they adopted two centuries ago as
Scottish Common Sense Realism,
but, the TV advert said we had to cut back because of the
water shortage in Southern California.

I was told I might experience some dizziness,
the virus was affecting my balance.
The doctor advised me,
“it’s like a military invasion, even when it leaves,
its imperialist presence can still be felt.”

An hour later my ex wife helped me
dribble out of the car,
morphined out of my face,
she could have been anyone.

I couldn’t stop laughing at the state
of the world, and myself.

A foreclosure sign
sprang up in the garden
of a neighbour’s home,
like the genetically modified
flowers on the beds
of the synthetic lawns
they once prided themselves
with. The tears of the night
street sprinklers started to engulf me.

The recycled waste
water felt like velvet
upon my drugged up skin.

However, when that wet layer of marine like
medical fog wore off,

I realised;

I could have taken a three thousand mile ride
on a jumbo jet back the U.K. for much cheaper than
a two mile ride in an ambulance or a fire truck,

instead of worrying about where my rent was
going to come from for the next two months.  

But that’s ok, some places even give you
free refills of salad and bread!

Poem by RK Wallace.

Photo by David McNew/Getty Images.